


City of Dreams

by LilTheHunger



Category: JEMISIN N. K. - Works, The Dreamblood
Genre: Anal Sex, Character of Color, Closeted Character, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent, Genderqueer Character, Harm to Children, M/M, Magical Healing Cock, Oral Sex, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-26
Updated: 2012-12-26
Packaged: 2017-11-22 12:27:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/609821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilTheHunger/pseuds/LilTheHunger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story set among the ordinary folk of Gujaareh, citizens and foreigners, who go about their lives amid magic and dreamlike strangeness.  A young Soreni mercenary comes to the city and finds something he doesn't even know he'd been seeking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	City of Dreams

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kass/gifts).



     _That's the tallest woman I've ever seen,_ Darius thought to himself as the Gujaareen priestess passed.

     "Don't stare, young sir," said the wizened little tradesman, swatting Darius on one leather-clad shoulder.  "Not proper."

     "Er, yes," Darius said, but it was hard not to stare at the priestess and her party.  There were five all total -- the tall one at the center, surrounded by four others who carried an elaborately-decorated canopy of yellow-dyed hekeh on poles.  The cloth stirred gently in the midday breeze, stirring tiny bells sewn all around its hem.  The bells' sweet, musical tinkle practically demanded attention.  So did the priestess herself, who radiated allure and mystery in her diaphanous robes and hood, her face covered by a veil.  The attendants -- shorter adolescent figures clad also in yellow, though they wore no veils -- carried some sort of metal clappers in their free hands, which they struck in a stately rhythm that matched their pace:  _tum_ ti ti _tum_ ti, _tum_ ti ti _tum_ ti.

     As they passed, the priestess' veiled head swung to the side, focusing squarely in Darius' direction.  He stared back, entranced, until the tradesman thwapped him again and he jerked his eyes to the ground.

     "Very bad, harass goddess," the tradesman said in pidgin Soreni, bustling past Darius to signal his servants.  They obeyed and began unloading the third caravan wagon.  "Goddess choose you, good.  Men not to do choose.  So bad, that."

     "I speak Gujaareen, old sir," Darius said in that language, trying to focus on the man rather than those tinkling bells.  "You're telling me _that's_ your goddess?  Your Hananja Dreammaker?"

     The tradesman stared at him, then let a slow grin spread across his face.  "Not Hananja, but one of Her Sisters, young sir, yes.  How come you to know our tongue, but not our priesthood?"

     "Members of the Soreni Mercenaries' Guild learn all the common tongues," Darius said.  "But Soren has strict rules to prevent contamination by foreign customs, so we only learn language, nothing more."

     "Hn."  The tradesman sniffed a bit, doubtless scornful of Soreni xenophobia.  The city of Gujaareh had grown rich welcoming foreigners from a hundred lands into its trade-markets and craft-houses.  "Language _is_ custom.  You cannot learn Gujaareen without learning something of us."

     Darius had indeed noticed that, and he'd been intrigued by the way dreaming and peace -- Gujaareh's foremost guiding principle -- permeated so much of its vocabulary.  But... "We learn no more than is necessary to do our work."  Indeed, Darius had been scolded for asking _unnecessary things_ more than once during his apprenticeship.  He'd always been too willing to question that which he should simply have accepted.

     "Well, here you are free to practice whatever customs you like, but you must remember that Hananja's Law rules Hananja's city.  Respect Her servants and you'll do fine.   -- Oh, Mnedza's flapping _tongue_."

     Two of his servants had misjudged the weight of a sack; it tore in the middle, spilling dried Soreni dates to the ground in a rapidly-growing pile.  The tradesman hurried over to castigate the servants, cursing roundly in Gujaareen and Kisuati and whatever other tongues he seemed to know.  Darius heard a few Soreni imprecations amid the flood of profanity, and could not help grinning.

     "Oh, yes, charming, these Gujaareen," said a voice behind him in Soreni, and he turned to see Andredas, the caravan's master, dismounting clumsily from one of the wagons.  The caravan-master was a portly, florid man, more flushed than usual at the moment because he insisted upon wearing his heavy Soreni finery in the oppressive Gujaareen heat.  "They seem friendly, don't they?  But you can't trust them.  Found that out the first time I came here, a few years back."

     Darius raised both eyebrows.  "Have they given you cause to distrust, Master Andredas?"  He kept his tone carefully deferential, despite the flicker of distaste he always felt at speaking to the man.  Darius was a full master of the Soreni Mercenaries' Guild, but Andredas had shown on more than one occasion that he considered Darius no better than any common hireman.  The trade season had been lean thus far, so Darius could not afford to be fired before he got paid for escorting and guarding the caravan against thieves.

     "They're Gujaareen," Andredas snapped.  "Unnatural people.  They can get into your head, you know.  Suck the strength, even your thoughts, right out of you.  That's what this city runs on, stolen dreams.  You can't trust any of them."  He turned and glared after the priestess' party, which was now well past them and fading into the crowd further down the dusty street.  "Don't even have proper whores here.  Dress them up and _worship_ them, how mad is that?"

     "Whores?"

     "Yes, whores.  That's what that yellow-veiled creature is.  Though if you offer that kind money they throw it in your face.  You have to wait for them to _pick_ you."  Andredas shook his head, then spat into the dust.  "Unnatural city."

     Which meant, Darius guessed, that Andredas would be in a foul mood for the rest of their time in Gujaareh.  The caravan master was well-known in Soren for his enthusiastic whoring, and Darius could not imagine any woman bestowing her favors on him if she had a choice.

     _Good_ , Darius decided, though a hint of resigned bitterness tainted his amusement.  _Then he can know what it feels like._

     No.  Now was not the time to think about such things.  It was _never_ a good time to think of such things.

     A commotion from the rear of the caravan pulled him back to the here and now.  Another of the wagons was having trouble unloading, and a gaggle of locals had assembled nearby to ogle the Soreni party -- the perfect opportunity for a cutpurse or worse.  With a weary sigh, Darius put a hand on the hilt of his curved sword, drew himself up to try and look imposing, and strode over to do his job.

#

     Andredas had been right about one thing, Darius discovered over the next two days.  Gujaareh was one damned strange city.

     He had been on guard almost constantly save for six-hour rest shifts once per day -- the minimum guaranteed by any Guild contract, of course.  Andredas had grumbled over even that much.  Despite this, there had been none of the incidents that Darius expected -- no pickpockets, no shoplifting, no gangs or corrupt soldiers extorting protection money.  Local merchants who came to peruse the caravan's goods brought their money with them in great sums, counting and exchanging it openly as if they had no fear of being accosted on the way home.  And as far as Darius could tell, no one did.

     It was, he confided to the old Gujaareen tradesman, the easiest caravan job he'd ever done.

     The tradesman, who sat atop one of the caravan's wagons, chuckled over the cup of warm beer he nursed.  He'd finished his business with Andredas days before, but as far as Darius could tell the man just seemed to enjoy gawking at foreigners.  For awhile Darius had been suspicious of him; it would not be the first time a thieving crew used someone harmless-looking to survey a prospective target.  Over time, however, Darius' suspicions had waned -- and really, he was beginning to like the fellow.  His presence made the long, wearying shifts more interesting.

     "Gujaareh is the city of dreams," the old man said.  "There are no thieves here."

     "What?"  Darius kept an eye on a wealthy Gujaareen merchant who was dickering over the Soreni dates.  "What do dreams have to do with thieves?"

     "Dreams are magic," said the tradesman.  "Hananja's servants take dreams from your mind and use them for power -- to banish sickness, heal wounds, and the like.  Most of the time they just take a few dreams; you never miss them.  But when they find someone with no peace in him, someone corrupt -- say, a thief -- they take _all_ his dreams."

     "So?"

     "So, without dreams," the tradesman said, his smile fading for just a moment, "the soul dies.  Without a soul, the _body_ dies."  He shivered a bit.  "A bad ending, that.  Not worth fine cloth or dates or money.  Thieves here know that."

     Darius frowned.  "You mean... anyone who commits a crime here -- any crime -- _dies_?  The _priests_ kill them?  Those women I saw, those Sisters -- "

     "No," said the tradesman, who then rose from the wagon-seat and dusted off his backside before hopping down to the ground.  "Only some of Hananja's servants kill, but harm the ones that don't and the killers will come gather your soul in the night.  So you should respect them _all_."

     He strode away, and Darius stared after him for a long while.

#

     The trading concluded that afternoon.  It had gone so well that Andredas, in a rare show of good cheer, bought a case of Gujaareen sweetwine and gave all the hiremen the evening off.  Even Darius, since there were no longer any goods to guard; the caravan would not load up for the return trip to Soren until the next day.  Someone brought out a flute and drum, and between the music and the flowing wine, a fine party was well under way by midnight.

     Darius spent a while enjoying the festivities, but left after a time.  If the party didn't become too raucous, he might be able to get a few hours' extra sleep before his duties resumed in the morning.  He headed for the cart that had been allotted to him as a sleeping-space (also the minimum guaranteed by contract) already yawning.

     But a faint muffled sound caught his attention as he passed Andredas' wagon.  A high-pitched mewling, as of an animal -- or person -- in pain.

     Fully awake now, Darius crouched and peered under the wagon.  Nothing.  Behind it, then; it was dark in the space between the wagons, and muggers could get up to all sorts of mischief.  He investigated the shadowy area at the rear of the wagon and found nothing.  Then another muffled cry, and a rocking movement of the wagon itself, stirred a new, nastier set of instincts in the back of Darius' mind.

     Quietly, he peeled back the wagon's flap -- and caught his breath in horror.

     Andredas knelt on his wagon's bed, positioning himself over something that twitched feebly and then uttered that pathetic little mewl Darius had heard from outside.  His mind took in the details as fragments and pieced them into an instant whole, as he always did in a combat situation:  rough-spun cloth torn half away, thin limbs, a bloody face and rolling eyes.  One of the local servant-caste children -- a girl not even old enough for menses, beaten so badly it was a wonder she could still cry out.

     At the sound of Darius' gasp, Andredas glanced toward the wagon entrance and spotted him.  "What, what are you doing here?  Get out, damn you!"

     "Poison-hearted wastrel," Darius spat, flinging the flap open and climbing into the wagon.  His hand was on the hilt of his blade; only long habit kept it in its sheath.  "You disgusting _fool_.  What have you done?"

     Scrambling off the girl and trying to arrange his clothing, Andredas spluttered.  "She's a, a servant girl.  I was going to pay her!  There are no proper whores in this town, it was the only way I could -- "

     Darius backhanded him across the wagon, too enraged to think beyond the moment.  "Then you should've kept yourself in hand 'til we got out of the city!  That is a _child_ , not a whore, and you've half beaten her to death -- " 

     The girl had slumped into a pile amid the bedding.  Ignoring Andredas -- who clutched his bruised cheek and continued to splutter -- Darius gathered her up, wrapping the sheets about her now-still frame, and headed for the entrance.

     "You, you _struck_ me," Andredas murmured behind him, in shock.  Then in anger:  "Your contract can't protect you now, Guildsman.  You're fired and -- and I'll tell them _you_ hurt the girl.  You haven't earned a coin on this trip anyhow, no one steals things here --  Ingrate!  Bastard!  Do you hear me?  You're through!"

     Darius ignored him, climbing out of the wagon with the girl tucked against one shoulder.  Then, with Andredas' shouts still echoing in the wagon behind him, he paused, unsure of where to go.  The girl's body had gone still, unconscious.  Darius had seen mercenaries die of blows to the head; a child was surely even more susceptible to such things.  He had to get her to a healer -- but he knew nothing of the city beyond the market square.

     Then, in the distance, he heard the stately chime of bells.

     Gathering the girl close against his chest, Darius set off in that direction at a run.

#

     He found the priestess' party in one of the city's elaborate gardens, where stone-paved paths wound amid a riot of palms and ferns and miniature trees.  "Sisters of Hananja!" he called, and they stopped, the attendants turning to face him.  The priestess -- the same one he'd seen before, he realized, unless they had another giantess -- did not turn to face him, or move at all as he ran up to them, breathless.

     "Please --  this child -- "  He could not bring himself to say it.  Instead he dropped to his knees, holding her forth and praying he wasn't violating some massive Gujaareen taboo in the process.  Or that they would at least help the child, even if he had.

     At his words, the priestess turned and immediately bent to take the child from him.  She laid the child on the grass between them and unwrapped the sheets.  All four of the attendants gasped.  There were no thieves in Gujaareh, no whores, and apparently no people who harmed children.  If not for the circumstances, Darius might have marveled at the purity of their shock.

     "I'm sorry," Darius stammered in sudden shame.  "I... my people have different customs, but --  Not all of us would do such a thing.  I stopped him in the act..."  But that was inadequate.  The harm had already been done.

     "Shh," said the priestess, and he fell into flustered silence.  She flicked the sheet back over the child to keep her warm, then very gently cupped the child's face between her hands.  She grew still.

     Slowly, subtly, Darius became aware of a strange sensation.  It felt a bit like the tension in the air before a thunderstorm -- a sensation of unseen weight, gathering power.  It built around them, prickling his skin.  He looked about and realized that the bells along the canopy were tinkling again, though there was no wind.  The faces of the attendants spun around him, blurring, hollow-eyed and unfathomable.  _Dreamlike_.  Was he awake?  He could no longer tell. 

     He shivered, disoriented and more than a little frightened.

     But when he looked at the child again, his fear was replaced by astonishment.  Before his eyes, the child's injuries had begun to heal -- her swollen eyes first, then her split lip and nose, then her shifted jaw.  Only when the child was fully healed did the priestess sigh, and with that exhalation the swirling, invisible power faded away. 

     "Shall I take her, Sister?" asked one of the attendants, out of the line of sight.  Something about the attendant's voice tickled Darius' mind, but he was still too stunned by the miracle he'd witnessed to think about it.  The Sister nodded, clearly weary, and handed the child over.  The attendant used a corner of the sheet to wipe blood and dirt from the child's face, then trotted off into the night.

     "What... what will happen to her?" he asked the Sister.

     "My Sisters will complete her healing," said the priestess.  "Her body is restored -- but her mind and heart are another matter, and those do not heal quickly.  Through Hananja's grace, she may yet recover."

     Darius barely heard the words, so startled was he by the voice.  The priestess' tone was deeper than his own -- deeper, in fact, than the voice of any woman he'd ever heard. 

     But the tradesman had called them _Sisters_ of Hananja...

     The Sister nodded to the remaining attendants, who abruptly took a step back, and in unison plunged the canopy-poles into the soft dirt of the garden path at four points around Darius and the Sister.  Then they reached up, unfastening previously-hidden ties, and flaps of opaque cloth rolled down to the ground on all sides of the canopy, enclosing them within an instant tent.  One of the attendants slid a thick, wide pillow under a flap, and the priestess rose gracefully, sliding it under herself -- herself? -- before kneeling again.  Another attendant thrust in a small lantern, which hooked neatly over a wire that hung from the center of the canopy.  Then the attendants withdrew and pulled the cords to tighten the flaps, and they were abruptly alone within the newly-made tent.

     "You are a foreigner here," the Sister said again in that rich baritone voice, lifting her hands to the veil.  "And likely unfamiliar with our customs.  Please do not be offended that I offer you Hananja's blessing.  I must replenish my reserves of dreamseed, and you clearly have earned Her favor."

     She lifted the veil off completely, letting the head-covering fall back as well, and Darius stared into the face of an indisputably _male_ Sister of Hananja.

     "What --  what -- "  Darius could think of nothing more coherent to say.  He realized in that moment that the attendant who'd taken the girl had been male too.  Not all of them were; he had clearly seen breasts and wide hips on one of them.  The rest, though, could have been anything.

     The Sister smiled.  His lips were full and gentle, though the smile hinted at secrets Darius could only begin to fathom.  So too did the Sister's eyes, which were narrow and angled and marked with kohl, as deep brown as his skin.  His hair was styled in many small braids in the Gujaareen fashion, falling unbound to his waist and twined with gold thread.  Indisputably male... but indisputably beautiful as well.  Darius stared in spite of himself, for he had never seen anything so strange in his life.

     "Soreni, aren't you?  You have the look."  Darius nodded mutely, and the Sister cocked his head.  "That explains why you stare, so."

     Darius flinched and dropped his eyes.  "I'm sorry."

     The Sister shook his head, setting his braids a-glimmer.  "You are a barbarian; it cannot be helped.  In your land _men_ and _women_ are simple, singular things, and those who veer from that simplicity must keep themselves hidden.  Or so I have heard; is this so?"

     _Singular things?_   "Y-yes, Sister."  He blanched.  "Sister?  Or... Brother?"

     The Sister smiled.  "Other Servants of Hananja are called Her brothers.  They act as administrators, warriors, enforcers of the law -- men's tasks, or so they have long been considered in Gujaareh.  Hananja's Sisters heal and protect; women's tasks.  Where men feel called to act as women and women as men, however, they take on some or all of the words that go with those roles."  He shrugged.  "Tradition cannot change, after all.  It is a thing of our ancestors -- to be respected, but long done.  A person of the here and now, however, can change endlessly."

     Darius tried not to show his confusion, and failed.  "Um..."

     "I am a Sister."  The Sister seemed more amused than anything else.  "By the laws of our goddess I am a woman.  I am also a man.  Is that really so difficult?"

     Apparently it was.  Darius tried to think it through, but his mind was numb.  All he could do was say what came first to his tongue.  "But I have never seen a man or woman so beautiful as you."

     The Sister's slow smile was surprisingly warm.  Darius' confusion faded before the belated realization that he had paid the Sister a compliment.  He had not meant to.  But the words were true.

     "Enough; I delay our business."  While speaking, the Sister loosened his robes and began to ease them off his shoulders, baring a lean, smooth torso and muscles that would make any Guildsman proud.  Darius stared, utterly entranced even as the Sister got to his feet, letting the robes slide down to his ankles.  There were jewels, set in tiny rings, dangling from each of his nipples. The Sister's movements were graceful, indefinably feminine, and his whole body was beautiful -- even the thick, heavy, half-ready penis that swayed gently before Darius' face.

     And gods, how Darius' mouth watered at the sight of it. If he but leaned forward and brushed his lips -- 

     _Holiest Sky Dancers, what am I doing?_   Darius tore his eyes away from the Sister's penis, trembling with shame and something far worse, his cheeks aflame.  It was one thing to acknowledge such thoughts in the privacy of his mind and perhaps even to indulge them in the shadows of an alley -- but here?  In the middle of a garden, in a tent that gave only the illusion of privacy, with a foreign priest -- priestess -- whose name he did not even know?

     But the Sister's hand came down and caught his chin, and turned his face back up with gentle strength. 

     "Are your customs so harsh?" asked the Sister.  His hand kept exerting that gentle pressure; Darius found himself drawn forward to the body-pillow at the Sister's feet.  As Darius knee-stumbled and half-fell onto the thing, the Sister crouched, suddenly close.  "You desire me, yet you turn your face away.  In Gujaareh it is a great honor to win the favor of a Sister of Hananja.  Can you not enjoy the honor, and put aside your shame, just for a short time?"

     "I..."  Breathing harder, Darius faltered, his heart abruptly at war.  The impropriety of it!  If any of the caravanners saw this or learned of it... if word got back to Soren...  Guildsmen had to be _men_.  And men did not tremble in want at the sight of other men.

     And yet.

     "You are not ill-favored," the Sister breathed, and his fingers splayed up from Darius' chin to cup one cheek, then threaded into his hair.  "How old are you?  Twenty flood-seasons?  Twenty-five?  Young to have such clear warrior strength."  His eyes unfocused, and for a moment that blurring sense of unreality returned; Darius fought a sudden urge to sleep.  Then, as quickly as it had come upon him, the urge passed.

     "Ah."  The Sister's eyes gleamed.  "I _see_.  You have your own way of being a man."

     "Wh- what?"

     "I can, I think, give you what you have craved." 

     And before Darius could fathom his meaning, the Sister's fingers tightened on the back of his head.  That full, perfect mouth fastened on his own.  And a tongue, sweet with chewed cinnamon, deftly slipped within his own mouth to explore and tease. 

     Oh Dreamer!  He should push this unnatural creature away.  He should flee.  He should... he should...

     But it felt so good.

     Without noticing, he had allowed the Sister to press him back onto the pillow.  The kiss consumed him, leaving him barely aware as the Sister's hands shifted to the laces that held his leather armor in place.  When cool, callused fingers set the armor aside and slid within his undershirt, Darius groaned helplessly.  Only then did the kiss end. 

     The Sister pulled free slowly and reluctantly, sighing as if he'd just sipped good wine.  "Will you still deny Her blessing, warrior?  For one night She offers you pleasure without shame.  Here in Gujaareh, whatever we do will be holy."  His hand moved down over the planes of Darius' belly, navigating expertly under the laces of his trousers.  "And I find you beautiful, too."

     In that moment the guilt shattered. 

     Darius groaned and sat up, feverishly tearing open the shirt before pulling the Sister down to him.  The Sister smiled and moved as Darius bid, kissing him again and lying half atop him, hand still working deftly within his trousers.  Darius whimpered and reached down to yank at the constricting laces of his pants, wanting everything at once, but the Sister withdrew his hand and caught his. 

     "Gently," he said.  Darius shivered, for it was a command he _wanted_ to obey.  "Have you had nothing but quick rough fumblings?  Ah, lands without peace truly dwell in shadow."

     "I don't -- "  Darius twisted his hips, trying to ease the pressure beneath the laces, trying to press up against the Sister's hand, anything to relieve that _ache_.  "Please, I --  I don't know -- " _how to be gentle, how to wait, please I want you so..._

     "Shhh."  As if he had heard Darius' desperate thought, the Sister smiled and sat up.  With excruciating slowness, he removed each remaining article of Darius' clothing and set it aside.  As he unlaced and tugged down the trousers, Darius' penis sprang forth all but quivering in its fullness, and the Sister's lips quirked.  "Foreigners.  Always in such a hurry."

     "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just -- "  Darius reached for himself; the Sister caught his wrist and pressed it back firmly to his side.  He groaned.  "Please, it's been so long -- "  He had touched himself, of course, but there had been no others in months, and his body felt hot, painful, needful, as if loneliness had become a sickness to him.  "Please just touch me!"

     "There's no need to beg.  I'll go nowhere until we're done."  Then the Sister sighed.  "Poor hungry warrior; forgive me for tormenting you.  Let this ease your pain."

     He bent, and warm wet heat enclosed the aching length of Darius' flesh, stroking and slurping and suckling all at once.

     It was pride that made Darius fight against the explosion that threatened only a few seconds after the Sister began.  He wanted to show that he had self-control; that he was no barbarian, and no innocent.  But it had indeed been too long, and indeed he had had too many quick rough fumblings as the Sister had guessed.  Too much of clandestine rutting in the hands or mouth of some actor or younger mercenary where he found one willing, worrying through the whispers that someone would catch them at it.  And too many more nights of empty pleasure with women, or with his own hand, just to ease the shame for a few moments.  So in spite of himself Darius arched and hissed and clutched at the Sister's head -- and then howled, mindless, as the orgasm broke him into pieces and only slowly put him back together.

     He was still dazed when the Sister sat up again, reaching for the sleeve of his own discarded robe and pulling forth a small flask.  There was the faint tinkle of glass, a quick liquid sound, and then Darius felt his legs lifted, coaxed apart with caresses along his thighs and behind his knees.  He snapped back to reality abruptly when the Sister slid two fingers into him which were slick and cool, working so gently that they were not at all uncomfortable.

     "Unhhh... w-wait, I..."  Darius blinked, swallowed.  He could not think.  He had heard of this, but never done it; other men had asked him to bend for them, and he had refused.  He could bear the idea of his unmanly yearnings for other men, but he had always tried to be _the man_ of his couplings.

     And yet, the Sister had called himself a woman --

     The Sister caught one of Darius' hands, then the other, lifting them above his head and pinning them there firmly.  Withdrawing his fingers, he lifted Darius' hips high until he was bent almost double.  And it felt good, it felt _good_ as it should not, to have something there rubbing and probing gently at Darius' most secret flesh.

     "In your dreams," the Sister said, his eyes gone dark as opals, "you crave the strength of another."

     And before Darius could protest, the Sister began to push into him.

     Darius cried out in shock and outrage; he could not help it.  It _burned_.  The Sister rocked forward at once and covered Darius' mouth with his own, drowning out the cry.  Deprived of an outlet, Darius bucked his hips and twisted his wrists, struggling.  But the Sister caressed his throat and chest with his free hand, humming soothingly into his mouth, and began to rock back and forth.  He moved slowly at first, only a little at a time, letting Darius get used to the sensation -- which was pointless because Darius was furious, only wanting it _out_.  He would not be a woman!  Then the Sister shifted his angle minutely, as if searching for something.

     And Darius froze as a new sensation flared within him.  The burn did not fade, but it was no longer so terrible either.  The new sensation did not eclipse the pain, but it did provide a much-needed distraction.  When the Sister pulled free of the kiss to gaze down at him, Darius had focused on that fascinating sensation so much that he forgot to curse the Sister for putting him into such an un-masculine position.

     "This is something only men can feel," the Sister whispered, to Darius' sudden confusion.  The Sister rocked his hips again, just a little, and Darius inhaled; the slick stroke of it made his whole body thrum.  "A secret of our deepest flesh. Do you like it?"

     He could not think.  "Y-yes."

     "Would you like more?"

     He should not, he should not... but...  " _Yes._ "

     "Good."  The Sister's teeth gleamed in the shadow of his face, and his grip eased on Darius' wrists.  "Then I shall give you all I can."

     Somewhere in the time that followed -- how long it lasted he could not have said -- the pain seemed to fade to unimportance.  That alone was surely magic.

     Then Darius knew only those sweet pulsing flutters deep within his body, and the sharper sweetness of the Sister's hand on his manhood, and the warm constant sweetness of the Sister's caresses, which fluttered over his nipples, his lips, his belly.  No one had ever touched him like this before.  No one had ever shown him this sort of pleasure -- these layers upon layers of enjoyment, or the burn that defined and separated them.  He had yearned for men all his life, and been shamed by it.  Every time he'd whispered a comrade's name while stroking himself to release, he'd hated himself a little more.  But now, as wave after powerful wave swept through him, he found the hatred gone.  If pleasure like this came from a goddess, could it be wrong?  If these were the shapes that manhood could take, how did he not fit -- easily -- within? 

     So he relaxed and raised his voice to the Goddess without a care for who might hear him, and his heart let go its loathing and guilt.  What remained in place of those feelings -- and what finally, exquisitely, came flooding out of him in a great mind-shattering wave -- was simple, unfettered joy that he was no longer alone.

     He came back to himself just as the Sister cried out some unintelligible string of words in Sua -- Gujaareh's formal language, used for holy rites -- and flung his head back, braids whipping in an arc, beautiful body gleaming rigid in the lantern-light.  Then the moment passed and the Sister moaned and sagged onto him, his lovely brown eyes gone vague for a moment.

     Then they cleared, and focused on Darius.  For an instant Darius felt that storm-gathering sensation again -- magic, powerful and strange, moving between and around them.  It did not frighten him this time.  His mind still spun, loosened by the orgasm, but for a moment he thought he felt something touching him there in the interstices of his thoughts, drawing something out of him.  He laughed weakly -- the Sister had already invaded the most secret part of his body; what did his soul matter?  Whatever the Sister took, the joy remained with him, and that was all he needed.

#

     He stood by quietly as the Sister's attendants rolled up the flaps of the canopy, deposited the pillow on top of it, and snuffed out the lantern.  He'd sighed a bit as the Sister covered his beauty once more in the voluminous robes and opaque veil, but he understood the necessity of the concealment now.  It was Hananja's blessing that the Sisters advertised, and not their own physical charms; the charms were just a bonus.  As was the pleasure itself.  The true reward of a Sister's favor was what the pleasure left behind.  Or in Darius' case, what it took away.

     "No more shame?" the Sister asked. 

     "No more," Darius agreed shyly.  "Though I will always have to be... circumspect.  It's dangerous to be different, in my land."

     The Sister shrugged.  "Gujaareh welcomes all, so long as they accept Hananja's Law.  There are many others here who could give you strength without shame."

     "Not like you," Darius said, and he blushed in spite of himself.

     The Sister chuckled.  "You don't even know my name, warrior.  Remember that before you decide you love me."  But then he stepped forward and lifted one hand, bells tinkling, to caress Darius' cheek.  "Though... perhaps if you come back here to stay, we will happen upon one another again."

     Behind the veil, Darius thought he saw a smile.  He grinned back, unable to help himself.  Then, in a swirl of hekeh cloth and the stately song of bells, the Sister and her attendants resumed their processional, away.

     It was near dawn by the time Darius returned to the caravan.  He braced himself for a confrontation with Andredas, but saw as the caravan came into view that it would no longer be necessary.  Lanterns were lit and half the caravan was still awake, most of them talking quietly with members of the city guard.  The guardsmen stood beside Andredas' wagon, around a still form that lay on the ground covered by a sheet.  Andredas' boots poked out from beneath the sheet at one end.

     The Gujaareen tradesman sat on a fence-post nearby, watching the proceedings while smoking a long curved pipe.  Darius stopped beside him, observing the scene in silence, and the tradesman eyed him oddly.  Then grinned.

     "A good ending?" the tradesman asked.

     "So it would seem," Darius replied, fighting the urge to blush.  "I was respectful."

     "Of course you were," said the tradesman.  "Otherwise you'd have ended up like that fool."  He gestured with the pipe toward the corpse.  "Now, from what I've heard, Soreni guild contracts stipulate immediate payment in the event of the merchant's natural death.  That one went in his sleep, so I'd call that natural enough.  And you get a bonus at contract's end if there were no losses to theft or vice along the way, true?"

     "True, old sir."

     "Good," said the tradesman.  "Ever considered investing in real estate, lad?  A house, perhaps?"  He grinned.  "I happen to know a nice one in the military caste district.  Big garden, lovely breezeways.  Not too far from the Sisters' cloister."  He took a long drag on his pipe, watching as understanding sank into Darius' mind.

     "A house, eh?"  Darius felt a slow grin spread across his face.  "Well, ah... as it happens, I _was_ thinking about making some sort of investment.  The mercenary business can be uncertain.  Always good to have solid, hands-on assets for when times are lean."  He glanced at the old man, thoughtful and amused.  "What a coincidence that you happen to have exactly what I need."

     "I am merely a merchant who saw a possible opportunity coming."  The tradesman was all innocence.  "And after all -- this _is_ Gujaareh, city of dreams."

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies if this doesn't fulfill your request, giftee! I know there's no recognizable characters or storyline from the books in this; I just wanted to play with the worldbuilding and write something about a) foreigners, and how this crazy city must look from their PoV, and b) the Sisters, who fascinate me -- especially the male Sisters, who I think of as genderqueer. I decided the Soreni were basically Persians, since there's not much about them in the series. And to my mind this is Sister Ahmanat, whom Hanani meets briefly in THE SHADOWED SUN... or maybe it's Ginnem of "The Narcomancer". Since Darius never learns his name, it doesn't really matter. It's also not stated here because Darius doesn't know this, but the whole sexual encounter is just a dream; the books specify that the Sisters don't actually have sex with their tithebearers. But as we learn in the canon, there's no such thing as "just a dream" in Gujaareh. :)
> 
> Also, I totally just wanted the chance to use the "magical healing cock" tag for the first time.


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